


Speak Of The Devil And He Shall Appear

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Confessional, Eavesdropping, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Foggy Nelson, Priests, Religious Discussion, Talking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Foggy is struggling with a lot of feelings about Matt, Daredevil and their friendship. He hasn't seen Matt in months, but he decided to visit Clinton Church, to confess his sins to Father Lantom. Unfortunately, it's hard to escape the Devil when you're in his kitchen.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Father Lantom, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	Speak Of The Devil And He Shall Appear

Foggy slid into the booth, rubbing his sweaty palms on the legs of his pants. He had no idea why he’d decided to do this. But he’d been out in the evening, on his way home from work, and he’d seen the church and he’d thought _Matt._ He knew this place brought Matt a lot of comfort. He wondered if he still came here.

It’s not like he could ask him. Hadn’t heard from him in months. Sure, he sometimes saw Murdock’s grimace on the pages of a newspaper, partially hidden by that ridiculous cowl. he thought he’d caught a glimpse of red, just the once, in his peripheral vision. He’d been walking home from Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz one night, after working late. His whole body had ached with fatigue but he’d kept his head on a swivel, keeping an eye out for muggers. You can never be too careful in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d glanced up at the night sky, to see if any of the stars had managed to make it past the dull, grey clouds and the swathes of light pollution, and he’d seen what looked like a figure on a nearby roof. It had to be Matt. It _had_ to be. But he was there and then he wasn’t. Blink and you’d miss it. Hadn’t seen him since and hadn’t wanted to. If Matt was ready to apologise for all the lies and foolhardy risk-taking, he knew Foggy’s phone number. Let Matt do the chasing for once.

He could make out the vague shape of a man through the latticed window that separated him from the priest.

“Um, hi, father. I’ve never done this before but some stuff has been weighing on me recently. I’m not a Catholic. I have a Catholic granny, she made me go to confession once, when I was a kid. I accidentally broke a window with my baseball and didn’t ‘fess up so she dragged my ass to church. Oops, sorry for the swear word.”

“That’s alright, my child. Take your time.” The man had a rich, low voice. Tired but warm. The kind of voice you could trust. He assumed this was the Father Lantom. He wondered how much Matt had told him.

“Okay. Let me think back to what Grandma told me to say. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been, whoo, many, _many_ years since my last confession 'cause I only confessed the once! Sorry,”

“That’s good, you’re doing fine.” The priest assured him. What’s on your mind?”

Foggy paused. Considered his words. “I’ve been lazy. And I’ve let my temper get the best of me. I haven’t been...I had a friend and he…” He broke off, thinking of tired, sightless eyes and the wet smear of red on a pale cheek. “He did some things I didn’t approve of and I wasn’t a good friend to him. I turned my back on him.”

“Do you still consider him a friend?”

“I do, I mean, I think so. I told him that I couldn’t be friends with him because of his lies and his, uh, his life choices. And that was true. But it wasn’t _entirely_ true.”

“What is the truth?” Lantom sounded politely interested.

“Father, I’ve had…” Foggy gulped, his throat suddenly running dry. “I’ve had impure thoughts about my friend.”

In a way, saying it aloud was a relief. For so long, these feelings had felt like a hot, acidic poison, percolating in his gut. Churning away like a witch’s potion and threatening to escape via his throat at any time. Every time Matt did something endearing…a pretty smile or a terrible pun…the poison bubbled again…

Releasing the poison in this small, wooden room felt cathartic.

“What kind of thoughts?” Lantom asked him.

“Sexual thoughts. Like, a lot. In college, I used to have dreams. But I couldn’t control them, they were just dreams. I thought it was ‘cause I was young, when you’re young, everything affects you. The hormones and stuff. But the feelings have only gotten stronger the longer I knew him.”

“I thought it was just him,” Foggy went on. “Like, he was the exception to the rule. I’ve had girlfriends, Father. Had a lot of pre-marital sex, sorry. But it’s like, there are girls and there’s _him._ I thought maybe my wires got crossed and I was a bit confused. But then, his life choices got in the way and our friendship got messed up and I did some stuff. He doesn’t know.”

“What did you do?”

“It was a few weeks ago. I was feeling down. I drank a lot. Like, a _lot._ There was some guy. Just some stranger. He kept buying me drinks in this dive bar I go to. A few shots in, he started to look like a good idea. Took him home.”

“Did you see him again?”

“No. But there were others.” And now that he had started, he found he couldn’t stop. “So many... I’d wake up with a wicked hangover and there’d be a stranger lying next to me. The last guy, though...he was different…”

“What made him different?”

“He was pale. A lot of dark hair, nice eyes. He looked, he looked a little bit like my friend. I took him home. He kept trying to make small-talk but he had a whiny voice so I kept telling him to shut up. I think I was angry that he wasn’t Ma—my friend. I made him wear my friend’s shirt. Um, my friend left a shirt at my apartment ages ago and I never returned it, I think he forgot it was there.”

“You made him wear the shirt because you wanted to fool yourself into believing that you were enjoying intimacy with your friend,” Lantom said gently.

“Yeah, I guess. When he left, I had a sort of crisis. I think it was the stress of losing my friend and the knowledge of what I was doing. I’m not homophobic, not at all. Love who you love, and all that. But my dad is kind of old school. He’s so excited at the thought of grandkids. I feel like if I do this, I’m letting him down. But I can’t switch it off. And I know you guys don’t approve of that stuff.”

Lantom sighed heavily. “The church has relaxed its views on a lot of controversial issues. Every time a new pope is ushered in, he influences public opinion.Our current pope has declared that animals have souls. The Catholic church’s previous position was that animals lack souls. I believe the church could accept same-sex relationships in your lifetime. But son, you’re not Catholic. You’re not bound by the rules that we are.”

“Huh. You’re a really cool priest.”

“Thank you,” Lantom chuckled.

“I feel guilty. Like I’m coveting my friend or something. It shouldn’t even matter. I haven’t spoken to him in months. I know I have to stop drinking so much and having these one night stands. I know they’re not good for me and they’re not making me happy. But outside of that, I have no clue how to move on. Father, what should I do?”

“You’ll have to accept that your friendship has changed. Perhaps your friendship had to end so it could make way for something better. People don’t have to remain lost, son. You can invite a person back into your life,” Lantom said. He cleared his throat. “When we feel lost and adrift, it can be beneficial to us to consider the needs of others instead. It distracts you from your own problems. You could consider giving back to the community. Charity work. Our neighbourhood is facing a lot of difficulties these days and our masked hero can’t save everyone.”

“You’re saying I should dress up in kevlar and punch muggers in the face? Sorry, Father, I failed gym class.”

“There are more ways to help people than vigilantism. Can you honestly say you are doing enough to help your fellow man?”

“I’m not. I used to help people in my old job but now...I only help myself and my family. I miss it. I didn’t realise that I did, until you mentioned it. But I have been feeling kind of hollow, for months now. This has actually been really helpful, thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome,” Lantom said. He sounded like he was smiling. “I’m supposed to offer you a prayer for penance. But instead, I’m going to ask you to do two things.”

“Okay?”

“Try to help somebody this week. It could be something as small as helping a person cross the road. But treat them with kindness and respect their dignity.”

Foggy nodded to himself. “I think I can do that. What’s the other thing?”

“Contact your friend. If he is as misguided as you say, he could use a compassionate friend to listen to him and help guide him to make better choices. You don’t have to pick up where you left off, you don’t have to be his friend again, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive him, I’m sure he’d be heartened to hear your voice. I suspect he misses you very much.”

Foggy blinked back hot tears. “I will. Thanks, Father,” he said thickly. Something about Lantom’s kind, tired voice reminded him of his own father.

Father Lantom recited something called an Act of Contrition and Foggy repeated the words, his tongue stumbling on the unfamiliar verse. Then Lantom recited the prayer of absolution and bade him goodbye.

* * *

As he left the church and walked out into the cool evening, he felt a pressure lifted from his chest. The priest was right, Foggy didn’t need to let Matt back into his life, but he could ask himself whether he’d be able to forgive him.

He wasn’t a religious man but there was something wonderfully freeing about spilling your secrets to an impartial party and being safe in the knowledge that those secrets would remain hidden forever.

He thought he saw something in the corner of his eye. A figure standing in the street. Standing stiffly, perfectly still. His red cowl hid most of his face.

Foggy felt the blood drain out of his face.

How long had he been sitting there? Had he been listening?

He rushed home, unable to lose the feeling that he was being followed.


End file.
